Resurrection
by joy2190
Summary: Peter sees Neal on a newscast of a prison riot, but things are not always what they seem on television.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **White Collar belongs to USA Network and Jeff Eastin.

**RESURRECTION**

Unexpectedly, it was Jones who was the first to react. He pushed his chair violently behind him as he stood up. It hit the wall beside Peter's desk, before toppling to the carpet. As he strode across Peter's office his foot hit the remote that had slipped from Peter's hand, sending it ricocheting from the door to the wall and finally the leg of Diana's chair, before coming to rest only a short distance from where it had started. He pulled the door open so forcefully it dented the wall behind it, bounced shut, and then slowly swung open again in his wake. The agents in the pit below looked up with shocked expressions as he descended the stairs and continued past them to the elevator.

The unfortunate intern didn't stand a chance as he came out of the elevator; arms piled high with case files. No sooner had Jones slammed his fist on the 'Down' button than the doors opened and the intern unwittingly stepped out and bounced off the agent's torso. He yelped in surprise as he fell straight back into the elevator. Files cascaded from his grip as the doors shut and the two of them disappeared from sight. A lone sheet of type written file notes wafted back and forth like the final autumn leaf before slipping silently along the floor and settling in front of the criminal consultant's desk, transfixing everyone in the now hushed room.

In complete contrast to Jones' cacophonous exit, the other two occupants of Peter's office had yet to utter a word. Diana had jumped from her seat when Jones exploded from his chair but had sat down again when he left the room and was now quietly weeping into her hands. Peter had remained standing and other than for releasing his grip on the remote, had stayed motionless since stilling the picture on the television screen in front of them. He had not even flinched as Jones swept past him. All color had drained from his face as he stared in horror at the frozen scene.

Fifteen or so inmates filled the narrow walkway. Bunk beds and chairs spilled out from the cells and were piled up in a haphazard way, blocking the guards who could be seen at either side, pushing them over the railings as they closed in on the rioting felons. Amidst this mêlée was the chilling form of a slight figure in an orange jumpsuit hanging from the front bars of the center cell. His hands appeared to be tied behind his back and his head was jarred back against the bars and skewed sideways as if he were looking up at the floor of cells above him. The noose looked to be a twisted bed sheet and what wasn't tied around his neck draped down behind him, like a macabre super hero cape.

Despite the strange angle of the head preventing a clear view of the unfortunate inmate's face, there was no doubt in Peter's mind, or his agents' as to whom he was. They all knew that what they were witnessing was the execution of Neal Caffrey.

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><p><strong>TBC<strong>

**I have a couple of options as to which way I am going with this. Your feed-back is appreciated, and (per Mozzie) will be taken under advisement!**


	2. Chapter 2

It was Hughes who finally broke Peter from his trance. The Assistant Director had been the first to receive the call telling them to turn on the news channel and as soon as it had switched to a commercial break he headed straight to Peter's office. Silently he picked up the remote, shut off the television and placed it on Peter's desk. As the screen turned black Peter blinked in surprise and realizing that Hughes was beside him, turned to him, grief-stricken. Hughes gently laid his hand on Peter's arm and started to speak, but although his lips were moving all Peter heard was an ever increasing thrumming sound. Blackness closed in from his peripheral vision until the tiny pinpoint of light in front of him went out also. Slowly, his legs buckled beneath him and his head hit the floor with a sickening thud.

Diana looked up when Hughes entered the room and although she had been watching the two men she was too slow to reach Peter before he collapsed. Even Hughes had been taken by surprise and in the few seconds it took him to register the fact that Peter was about to pass out, the agent was already on the floor. Neither Hughes nor Diana had ever seen Peter have such a dramatic reaction to any situation, even in the most dangerous or frightening of undercover operations. The agent was the rock of the White Collar team; always steady, always in control of himself and his agents.

"Oh my God!" gasped Diana as she knelt by Peter's side. Immediately, she rolled him over onto his back and checked his pulse, relieved to find it steady, if somewhat faint. His face has a sickly grey and there were tiny beads of sweat forming above his top lip. Quickly, Hughes removed Peter's tie and undid the top buttons of his shirt. "Get some water," he ordered and Diana rushed from the office to the break room. Behind her she could hear the Director, "Peter, come on, wake up!"

As Diana got to the break room she grabbed a glass from the counter, knocking the one next to it onto the floor. She jerked the faucet open and held the glass beneath the running water, aware that her hands were shaking violently. Water splashed off the rim of the glass, soaking the counter and spilling down to the floor, from where it pooled out around her shoes, taking shards of glass with it. She didn't even attempt to close off the faucet when she was done, just turned and started back to the office. By the time she got there she had to steady herself on the door frame as she passed through it, her breath had become so pinched and uneven. In a fleeting thought as she was getting the water, it had struck her that perhaps Peter had not fainted but was having a heart attack or stroke, and she too had succumbed to the panic around her as she hurried back to him. She was extremely relieved to find him with his eyes open and his head propped up on Hughes' lap. She brought the glass of water to his mouth but her hands, although calmed somewhat, were still shaking and her attempt to help him drink resulted in her clumsily splashing water down the front of his shirt. "I'm so sorry," she said breathlessly looking from Peter to Hughes. "It's okay," said Hughes, jerking his chin toward Peter's desk. "Let's get him fully sat up." Diana put the glass down beside her and together she and Hughes pulled Peter over to his desk and leaned him up against it.

Some color was now returning to his face, as Peter sipped the water. Diana knelt beside him, her composure back together as she watched him carefully. Hughes was squatting on Peter's other side, his hand squeezing Peter's right shoulder. "Shit," he thought, "this is going downhill fast."

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><p><strong>TBC<strong>

**Your feed-back is appreciated, and (per Mozzie) will be taken under advisement!**


	3. Chapter 3

Neal's patience was running thin. He knew Mozzie was watching him and despite his best efforts over the past twenty minutes, he had yet to spot him. When he had received the text message earlier that morning he had laughed out loud and immediately replied, "really moz - are you high?"

Peter had asked him to contact his paranoid friend to see if there was word out on the street yet as to who was responsible for the Kounellis theft. Rumor had it that it had already been fenced, and despite its conspicuous size and considerable weight, was soon to be smuggled out of the country. Within less than an hour Mozzie got back to him with a possible rendezvous between the new 'owner' and his 'shipping agent', scheduled for that very afternoon. Even for Mozzie, this was an impressive turnaround time and he was fully prepared to milk it for all its worth. He had insisted that he would only give Neal the precise location at the docks where the meeting was to take place, if the criminal consultant met him clandestinely at the park opposite the White Collar Crime Unit.

Although he was willing to sit patiently on the appointed bench, Neal drew the line at Mozzie's ever increasing theatrics. There was no way he was going to say those words out loud, in public, in order for Mozzie to approach him. Sometimes he thought that it was Mozzie's secret intent to capture Neal on his iphone during one of these exchanges and send it to all and sundry as his Christmas card. He had even had a nightmare recently in which he walked into the White Collar conference room only to have everyone chorus, "The dog with the white Ferrari is leaving for Geneva tonight!"

As he leant back against the warm oak of the bench, Neal slowly brought his hands behind his neck and with feigned nonchalance scanned the shrubbery around him, hoping to spot a glint off his friend's glasses as the sun caught them at its midday high. No such luck. However, he did notice a cappuccino cart about twenty yards further into the park and decided to play for time by getting them both something, for when Mozzie finally deigned him with his presence. Perhaps the aroma of a café Americano might lure him from his hiding spot in the bushes.

Neal joined the queue behind a pretty brunette with a high chignon and a tantalizing scent of citrus and rose, which he was only too happy to breathe in while he waited in line. When she had started rummaging in her purse and apologizing profusely for having left her wallet at the office, Neal gallantly stepped in and told the bemused barista to add it to his order. She smiled at Neal and graciously accepted the cup as he picked it up from the counter and presented it to her. "Thank you …?" "Neal, at your service." he said raising his Fedora and bowing before her. She laughed and repeated, "Thank you, Neal." turning to walk down the path toward the bench that Neal had been waiting at previously. Excited at the thought that she might be going to sit there also, Neal quickly ordered Mozzie's and his own coffee. Despite the delicious Italian roast that Neal enjoyed for breakfast each morning at June's home, he had recently become partial to a cold coffee drink at lunch, now that the city was warming up to the oncoming summer. Seeing that the cart offered quite a substantial range, he tried for his current favorite and was happy to see that they could accommodate him. The first time he had ordered it; tall iced coffee in a grande cup with extra ice, 2 pumps classic, an inch of non-fat milk, with a dome lid and a venti straw, Mozzie had snorted out loud and stepped away from him with raised eyebrows. "Seriously Neal, what are you doing – getting ready for Fashion Week?" He had refused to sit with him until Neal at least removed the straw and the domed lid.

Neal walked back to join the girl on the bench. They chatted lightheartedly for a few minutes until her expression suddenly darkened as she looked past Neal to a tall, stocky man who was swiftly approaching them with a furious expression and clenched fists. She jumped up as he reached the bench, side-swiped the coffee cup out of her hand, and turned to glare at Neal. Without a word the man grabbed her by the elbow and marched her down the path toward the park gate. Neal sprung up, aghast at the violence of this brief encounter, and without thinking called out after them, "Hey, what's going on?" The man spun on his heels and glowered back at Neal. The girl, still in his grip, stumbled around with him and twisted over her right heel. Her eyes were wide with fear and she gave Neal an ever so slight shake of her head, warning him to back off. Neal instinctively put his hands up in front of him and sat back on the bench, his face paling. "Mind your own business!" the man thundered at him, and with the girl still in tow he started back toward the exit. "How dare you shame me" Neal heard him growl at her. He started to get up again but the man looked back over his shoulder and caught him staring sympathetically after the girl. Neal sat back down, worried that he might only make matters worse for her should he try and intervene. Only after the wrought iron gate had swung shut behind the couple did Neal manage to steady his breathing. After a couple of minutes his hands stopped shaking and he bent down to retrieve the fallen cup and place it in the trash. Just then his phone rang and he was relieved to hear Peter's voice, even if it was to chide him for still being on his lunch break. "What's taking so long?" Peter asked, "Please don't tell me Mozzie is insisting on acting out his info." Neal smiled wanly, "No, he's not here yet boss. He must be running late. I'll be back as soon as we're done" he promised and hung up.

The whole event had darkened Neal's spirit considerably and he was in no mood to play Mozzie's game any longer. "Mozzie!" he yelled out in frustration, "I'm not joking, either come out now, or I'm leaving." He heard a slight rustling nearby and then a pained, "Pretty please." Mozzie had witnessed the entire episode with the girl and her thuggish boyfriend and had really just said it to try to cheer Neal up a little. It had the desired effect, enlisting a quiet chuckle from his friend, but he was genuinely surprised and more than a little delighted when Neal sighed and said, in a resigned tone, "I will do this only once Mozzie, and it's the final time. _The chickens … are into … the to-ma-toes_." Mozzie emerged from hiding with a wide grin, his arms held out in a silent 'Tah-Dah'. He sat down beside Neal who was rolling his eyes at him, and put his arm around his friend's shoulders, "Nice job, Suit Junior!"

Twenty-four hours later Peter called him and told him that Neal was dead.

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><p><strong>TBC<strong>

**Your feed-back is appreciated, and (per Mozzie) will be taken under advisement!**


	4. Chapter 4

When the early morning news programs had first come on air their reporters and cameras were only allowed outside the prison gates. The initial accounts of what was going on were patchy; there was talk of a breakout, a fight, an all out riot. No one seemed to have a real handle on what was happening, but there was no doubt that something serious was going down. The tip-off came from Officer Sandona, who'd hawked the story out the moment he'd come off his shift at the penitentiary. Having received $1,000 from the arresting officer to ensure Neal got 'lost' in the system it occurred to him that more could to be made from the whole affair. He had offered to get a cameraman inside for a cool $10,000 and when the local news station jumped at the chance to one-up the big networks, he was quick to deliver. The action was already escalating by this point and Sandona himself had no idea how out of control it was soon to become.

At first the cameraman had positioned himself on the opposite walkway, trying to take in all that was going on. But after being hit by a faucet, thrown with (literally) stunning accuracy and force, he opted to abandon his equipment in a locked cell and retreat to the safety of the guards' office. He happily sat back, nursing his wound as the camera continued to record, unfiltered, the ensuing chaos in front of Neal's cell. The news station ran the footage uncensored, claiming that it had been too dangerous for anyone to retrieve the camera. Why they hadn't simply cut the feed they were less specific about. When it was all over and they had been thrown out of the facility, the cameraman's injury served as a convenient explanation for his amnesia regarding the name of the officer who had granted such inappropriate access to the prison. The news station had been swift to bring their legal boys in to threaten suit over the now 'extensive' injury and the custodial _powers that be_ immediately agreed to drop any prosecution regarding the illegal access. It was a win-win for all concerned; apart from Neal, that is.

The public's appetite for the salacious footage of Neal's death was apparently insatiable, and the images raced through the Internet like wildfire. Within a couple of hours there had been over a million hits and it quickly became the most viewed link of the day. By evening, it was the lead story on numerous crime talk-shows. They sanctimoniously berated the local news station for having aired Caffrey's demise, all the while keeping the images up in the background. Sandona rued not having negotiated a more lucrative deal.

Officer Olsen, however, could not have been happier; as far as he was concerned it had been a bargain. The girl had been forced to watch over and over, as Neal was hoisted up by the makeshift noose and left struggling while the fight carried on around him. In contrast to the increasing action, Neal kicked less and less wildly. The final, feeble twitches would be forever seared on her psyche.

"Next time you try and make a fool of me, it'll be you swinging up there!" Officer Olsen had threatened her with ill concealed glee.

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><p><strong>TBC<strong>

**Your feed-back is appreciated, and will (per Mozzie) be taken under advisement!**


	5. Chapter 5

Once Peter and Diana had pulled themselves together, Hughes moved quickly to get things back on track. The Kounellis case had been completed the day before and so the team was free to work on this current situation exclusively. "Diana, find Jones and bring him back here now. Peter, take five and get some coffee into you. Have your team in my office in half an hour, Mozzie too, if you can track him down." Although Peter moved slower than usual and still looked somewhat shell-shocked, he had now snapped back into FBI mode and was determined to find out just how his criminal consultant, and close friend had gone from a tail light violation to death in such a short period of time.

His first call, however, was to El. She had rung in while he had been out cold on his office floor. Hughes had seen her name on the caller ID and against his better judgment, had answered Peter's phone. Elizabeth hadn't given him a chance to identify himself before starting in on Peter, as she thought it was she was speaking to. To say that she was beyond hysterical was an understatement. Her voice was shrill, she kept gasping for breath, then breaking down into sobs before starting in on another flow of unanswered questions and cycling into tears again. Hughes could not imagine how she and Peter were going to cope long-term with their loss of Neal. He had grown to become their surrogate son and everyone in the Unit knew how close they were to him. They had worked tirelessly to keep him on the straight and narrow and slowly Neal had come to accept that there were legal routes he could take in life which offered as much satisfaction as his prior career in art fraud and theft. Lately, Neal could not imagine how he had been satisfied with his previous existence and had become as devoted as any biological son to the Burkes. Therefore, it had been particularly cruel for Elizabeth to have had her florist, of all people, tell her about Neal's death.

Apparently, the TV was on in the background as Matt prepared the arrangements Elizabeth had hastily called in. He had met Neal numerous times when he and Peter had been helping out Elizabeth by picking up last minute orders. He had liked the young man and was completely unfazed by the tracking anklet when he first caught sight of it. Anyone associated with Elizabeth had been pre-screened as far as Matt was concerned and as Neal had clearly passed muster with her and Peter that was good enough for him. Elizabeth had called the store earlier, in a flap over a booking snafu. It seemed that her new assistant, not completely familiar with her scheduling software yet, had put in a booking for a luncheon party a day out on the calendar. When the client called to double-check that all was set for 12:00Noon Elizabeth had been calm and reassuring. As soon as she had hung up the phone it was a different matter altogether.

Always the consummate professional, Elizabeth had a fail-safe three-hour lunch plan that she could pull out at a moment's notice. Her assistant had been only too willing to bring in her two daughters to help out. Rose was sent to collect the _Plan B_ menu, as Elizabeth and her favorite caterer referred to it. Zoe swung by to get the uniforms for her and Rose; black wrap around skirts, white silk shirts, black hose and ballet flats. These were kept at the event planner's office for use in just such an emergency. As her assistant pulled out the table settings, Elizabeth put in the floral order to Matt and, promising to bring coffee, had headed out to his premises. She was taken aback when he called her ten minutes later and bluntly said, "Forget the coffee, get here straight away, and Elizabeth – don't put on the car radio!" It took all her resolve just to keep her hands steady on the wheel, a cold sickness creeping up from the pit of her stomach. When she got there, she ran into the florists and immediately caught sight of the newscast. Her hand flew up to her mouth as she tried, unsuccessfully to stifle her scream.

Hughes had done nothing to allay her fear when he had finally managed to let her know it was he who had answered Peter's phone. A second wave of nausea swept over her when he explained where Peter was at that moment. He had managed to calm her down long enough to assure her that Peter was okay and told her to stay put at the florists, awaiting Peter's call once more information was available. Matt got her sipping sweetened tea while he sent his helper out with the flowers and called Elizabeth's assistant to let her know she would be working without her boss today. "Good luck, don't screw up!" were all he manage as he sat down beside Elizabeth and turned up the volume on the TV.

When Peter called her, he really had nothing new to report. He was as baffled as everyone else about what had gone on with Neal. However, he thought it best for Elizabeth to catch a cab and come on into the White Collar Crime Unit so that they could be together. Peter had never liked his wife around while he was working but this time it was different. He could not imagine her coping alone while they tried to piece together the jumble of events. Besides, Mozzie and Elizabeth had developed a mutually supportive bond over the past three years and she was the best person he knew at keeping Mozzie from spinning off on a tangent. Peter needed all the information Mozzie was capable of gathering and Elizabeth would help to keep him focused.

Before heading off to the break room for coffee he sat quietly for a moment, trying to still his thoughts. After the operation had gone so smoothly yesterday, everyone had been jubilant that no one had been hurt and all the interviews and paperwork had been wrapped up by 4:00PM. It had been a much appreciated 'early out' day for the team and Peter had been looking forward to a night in with El. Neal, however, had other plans. Still hyper from the adrenaline rush of the 'sting', he had been badgering Peter the whole ride back to June's to take him to the Kounellis exhibit. It was out of Neal's radius, and out of Peter's realm of interest. There was no way he was missing out on an extended evening with El to baby sit Neal. Neal tried all out charm, then moved onto whining and wheedling when it was clear Peter had no interest in taking him. "I don't care if it's the last day of the show Neal," he moaned "I have had quite enough of Kounellis's art for today. There is a game on, beer in the fridge and lasagna in the freezer. No buddy, no outing for you tonight. "

Neal was not willing to let it go, "Peter, please!" he had pleaded. "This anklet comes off in three weeks anyway. Why not let me off the grid this once? I could drive myself if you are planning on staying in with El?" At first Peter had scoffed at the suggestion, but it did make some sense to him. Surely Neal wouldn't try anything with so little time left on the clock. He had had trust issues with Neal throughout the entire period of the criminal consultant's time with the FBI but they had always been resolved, and more often than not Neal had been proven innocent. He switched course and headed for his own home. Once there, he parked, turned off the ignition, pulled out the keys and handed them to Neal who could barely contain his surprise. "Okay, Neal." Peter said smiling, "I guess you've earned it. Please, don't screw this up. I do not want to be woken by the cops at 2:00AM!"

As things turned out it was 3:20AM when Officer Olsen called Peter to inform him of Neal's arrest.

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><p><strong>TBC<strong>

**Your feed-back is appreciated, and will (per Mozzie) be taken under advisement!**


	6. Chapter 6

Even before Peter was fully awake, as Officer Olsen was recounting the details of the arrest, things weren't fitting together properly in his mind. He had completely forgotten about the tail light. El had pointed it out to him the other night and he had planned to get the replacement bulb on Saturday. He would never have let Neal take the car had he thought there was any chance of his being flagged down by the police. He felt awful for putting his friend in that situation but he had been so damned annoying about getting to the exhibit that Peter was glad to see the back of him, and the broken light hadn't even crossed his mind.

Okay, so the light had been out, so what? The registration documents were in the car, Neal had a valid license and his name was listed on the insurance card, so why hadn't the incident passed uneventfully? What had prompted the officer to order Neal out of the car? Peter just didn't buy the whole erratic/dangerous driving story. Neal knew what a big deal it was for Peter to loan him the car. Although Neal had driven it plenty of times when Peter was recovering from the bullet wound to his shoulder last year, this was the only time he had taken it out alone. If anything, Neal was overly cautious when driving his boss's car. Peter had irritably told him to speed up on several occasions and urged him through the lights before they turned red. Neal's natural inclination had been not to push it; he was no _amber gambler_ and was content to sit and wait for the next green light while Peter harrumphed next to him, that they could have been in the office ten minutes earlier.

While the image of Neal recklessly driving had been hard for Peter to formulate. He had no doubt that the report of Neal having assaulted the officer was simply not true. Yet to hear Officer Olsen speak of it, there had been quite a ruckus and he had been 'forced' to tase Neal, before cuffing him for resisting arrest. No, Peter refused to accept that as a possibility. Neal had left in high spirits and there was simply no way he would have done anything to jeopardize his approaching release from Peter's custody.

The office had already started buzzing with surprise party plans, Jones and Diana had bought Neal a membership to the Metropolitan Museum, and El had ordered a fabulous cake in the design of his tracking anklet. Given the mounting giddiness in the White Collar Crime Unit regarding the end of his four years partnership with them, there was no way Neal had not cottoned onto what was being planned. Always comfortable with being the star of the show he was happy to pass out the few remaining weeks until the celebrations without incident. Decking a police officer just did not fit into the picture. Something was very, very wrong.

Peter had never seen Neal violent unless _in extremis _and, if indeed, things had gone down as Officer Olsen described (which Peter doubted), then he must have done something to really provoke Neal. The more Peter questioned him, the more defensive the officer began to sound and when Peter had demanded to know why Neal could not have been kept in holding rather than whisked straight into the prison system he had snidely asked Peter if their partnership were purely professional. Alarm had replaced the growing unease he was feeling over his communication with Officer Olsen and Peter decided to drop the matter and deal directly with the prison warden.

Given the timing of Neal's incarceration, the night staff was minimal and Peter had been put through to Officer Sandona, who explained that Neal was being processed as they spoke. "Listen," Peter emphasized, "Neal is part of an FBI team. He must be held in isolation and watched over to ensure no one tries to harm him. He's helped put several of the other inmates in there. Please, just keep him safe until I get in there to see the warden. There's been some awful mix-up I am sure. Just, just … look out for him." He choked. "No need to worry, Agent Burke. The warden will be in at 9:00AM." Officer Sandona had replied soothingly, "I'm sure this will all get sorted out then."

Peter was up and out before Elizabeth was even awake. He had been gathering Neal's case files en route to the prison when he had heard someone call out, "Caffrey's on Channel 5," and he had flipped on the TV.

Despite what he had said to Peter, Office Sandona was not about to let $1,000 from his old partner Craig Olsen go un-acted on. He casually told the guards escorting Neal down to the cell block, "General population, and put the word out, he's not someone they'd want to babysit their kids."

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><p><strong>TBC<strong>

**Your feed-back is appreciated, and will (per Mozzie) be taken under advisement!**


	7. Chapter 7

It wasn't until Hughes' secretary came in with the court order required for the prison to release Neal's body that it really sank in. Neal Caffrey was dead. Bureaucracy had taken over and the last glimmer of hope had been stamped out. "Peter, you're needed there for identification and to accompany the b… to take Neal, to the morgue." Hughes handed Peter the paperwork with a concerned look. "You sure you're up to this?" "Of course, I'm up to this!" Peter snapped. The Assistant Director ignored the tone of voice. He knew Peter was doing his best just to keep it together. It had to be Peter who went; he had put Neal in that prison twice and now he would be bringing him out for the second, and final time. He had never expected that it would be in a body bag.

"Need a driver, boss?" Diana asked, concerned, as he started out of the office. "No, thanks for the offer Diana, but I have to do this by myself." He could feel his legs tremble slightly while he waited for the elevator. Diana watched him while he stood there, shoulders slumped, eyes lowered to the floor. She has mourning Neal, but she could not begin to fathom how deep Peter's sorrow must be. The cheerful _ping_ of the elevator as the doors opened seemed grossly inappropriate. Peter, mercifully alone, entered and pressed the button for the parking level. She saw him lean against the wall, let out a deep sigh and close his eyes. Silently she wished him strength for the task ahead.

How he got to the prison, Peter could not recall. It seemed like one moment he was pulling out of the parking garage and the next he was stopped at the security checkpoint outside the prison gates. Well over an hour had passed, and yet he could not recall a single moment of the drive. The guard handed him back his ID with a sympathetic look. Word had spread throughout the building that the FBI criminal consultant had been set up by Officer Sandona and his buddy on the outside. Sandona had already been picked up by the FBI together with the inmates who had strung Neal up. They had been quickly identified from the news footage; all lifers who had nothing to lose by giving what they thought was a pedophile, his due.

However, even convicted felons don't like being tricked into doing someone else's bidding and once they had realized that they had been conned they were quick to offer up Sandona as the bad apple. In turn, Sandona had given the FBI Officer Olsen as the instigator of the whole sordid affair and he too had been brought into the White Collar Crime Unit for questioning. Everyone had been at a loss as to what could have been Olsen's motivation until Mozzie saw his picture at the morning meeting in Hughes' office. He had let out a gasp and then a disgusted hiss as he picked up the photograph and recounted the incident in the park the previous day. "So this creep arrested Neal?" He spat out. "A dirty copy and an abuser, poor Neal, he must have been terrified when he recognized him."

"Neal, oh Neal," Peter thought to himself, "Why couldn't you have just left well enough alone?" But, of course, he knew the answer. There was no way Neal would have witnessed the cop's cruelty toward his girlfriend and said nothing. What were the odds that it would be the same cop to pull him over that night? If only he had taken Neal to the exhibit himself. The officer might not have even noticed Neal if Peter had been driving. There would certainly have been no arrest, no incarceration, and no death.

Peter felt crushed by the immensity of his guilt; his chest ached as though a heavy weight had been placed there, pushing down and restricting his breathing. He began to realize that what he was experiencing was his heart actually breaking.

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><p><strong>TBC<strong>

**Your feed-back is appreciated, and will (per Mozzie) be taken under advisement!**


	8. Chapter 8

"What do you mean the body is no longer here?" Peter yelled at the Prison Warden. "No one is allowed to take it without a court order. So who the hell did you release it to and where did they go?" He could feel his voice rising, verging on hysteria. He clenched his fists in an attempt to stop his hands shaking. "I'm so sorry Agent Burke, there was a … a mix-up, a terrible mis … mistake'" the warden stumbled on, clearly upset himself. "Your agent, he's gone, but he wasn't taken to the city morgue…" "Where the hell is he then?" Peter screamed, oblivious to the fact he had also switched to using the pronoun _he_ instead of referring to a _body_. "He was taken to NY-Presbyterian, to the ICU." The beleaguered warden replied.

The realization of what the warden was saying hit Peter with the same effect as an actual blow. He jumped back and whipped his head up, staring wide-eyed at the warden as he gasped, "He's alive?"

Peter turned and started to run back through the building, the warden at his heels explaining breathlessly what had happened during the aftermath of this morning's riot. As he stopped to get his weapon and sign out of the prison, Peter only registered part of what he was being told. His mind was already focused on working out the quickest way back into the city. Once in the car, it started to sink in. "Only Neal," he thought. "Only Neal could be hanged and yet survive."

Apparently, the noose was effective only in holding him in place, when Neal started struggling it had choked him into unconsciousness only to loosen its deadly grip as his body became limp. As the guards had moved in, they cut Neal down but no one thought to actually check if he was alive. He had seemed so obviously dead that they had left him there on the ground while they took the other prisoners to a holding area and moved the furniture out of the walkway and back into the cells.

When the infirmary staff came with a gurney and hoisted him onto it, Neal made no response, but in the elevator down to the infirmary he let out a low moan and frightened the living daylights out of the young doctor and his assistant. By the time the elevator doors opened on the floor below they came hurtling out and pandemonium ensued. The doctor was yelling at Neal to wake up, while his assistant yelled at the other staff around them, "Move aside!" "Get the breathing equipment!" "Call for an ambulance!" "Get the Warden, NOW!" Even once Neal had been taken off and the sound of the sirens had faded, everyone was still jittery and shocked over the severity of the mistake. The warden had only just got himself calmed enough to put the call through to Hughes when Peter had arrived on the scene, setting his nerves off again. He picked up the first of a large pile of papers on his desk that would record every detail of the final day of his career.

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><p><strong>TBC<strong>

**Your feed-back is appreciated, and will (per Mozzie) be taken under advisement!**


	9. Chapter 9

Peter drove like a man possessed. Ironically, while Neal had fallen into all this by being stopped for a tail light, no one had noticed Peter running amber lights, cutting into lanes or swerving dangerously close to pedestrians as he sped to the hospital. He abandoned the car at the Emergency entrance and took off for the ICU. It was all very irresponsible and highly uncharacteristic behavior on Peter's part, but Neal seemed to bring out the worst (and best) behavior in him. He barely even noticed as he barreled past another man exiting the ICU and had to hold onto him to prevent him falling over. "I'm so sorry," Peter said, moving on before he could hear the man's response clearly.

He presented his badge at the desk and tried to calm his breathing so he could sound more authoritative; less desperate. "My name is Peter Burke. I am with the FBI. You have one of my agent's here I believe, Neal Caffrey?" "Are you a family member?" the nurse asked him with a sympathetic tone. "No, but I do have a medial Power of Attorney for him. He has no relatives as far as I know, he's a convicted felon and is he's in my custody while he is serving out his sentence under FBI supervision. I am as nearest thing he has to family." "Oh, well Mr. Burke, please take a seat will you and I will be right back." She motioned to the row of comfortable seats opposite the nursing station. Peter sank into one of them, grateful for a moment of stillness, although somewhat unsettled by the confused expression the nurse had as she looked over her shoulder at him before disappearing though the door.

"Mr. Burke ... ?" Startled from his sleep, Peter looked up at the nurse and another woman beside her in a white medical coat. Her name badge read, Dr. Mansfield. He had no idea how long he'd been out, the drama of the day had exhausted him past anything he had experienced before. "Please, let this all be ok," he thought. "I can't take much more of this."

Dr. Mansfield sat down next to him, placing her hand on his arm and looking him straight in the eyes. A chill started to slowly wind its way through his veins. "No, no, no … don't say anything. Please, as long as you don't speak it can't be true." He intoned to himself. As if she were reading his mind, Dr. Mansfield's expression softened. "I'm sorry, Mr. Burke. You're friend didn't make it. He was in pretty poor shape when he came in and he held on for a while, but his brain was starved of oxygen for too long. He went peacefully, about thirty minutes ago."

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><p><strong>TBC<strong>

**Your feed-back is appreciated, and will (per Mozzie) be taken under advisement!**


	10. Chapter 10

Peter had reached his nadir; he said nothing, just shook his head slowly. It seemed like one minute he was sitting with Dr. Mansfield and the nurse and the next, they were gone but Elizabeth and Hughes were there. Exactly when the change over occurred, Peter had no idea. Hughes handed him a coffee and sat down with a long sigh. "I really thought Caffrey would outlast us all. This is not how it was supposed to end. I had his appointment all lined up for next month, even had his badge ready. I'm sorry Peter, Elizabeth. We let him down … badly"

Elizabeth gave him a sympathetic look and nodded. "I want this all to be wrong, some Neal scam that we've all fallen for. I wouldn't care if he'd duped us again, I would rather that than this. He didn't ever deserve this." She looked down at her husband and sat on the arm of his chair, taking his hand in hers. "I know we had nothing to do with what happened with that dreadful cop, but somehow I do feel responsible. Oh, Peter, I just can't stand it!" She broke down into loud sobs, tears flooding her flushed cheeks. Peter pulled her into his lap and hugged her. "I know, Honey, I feel the same way."

Hughes got up to give them some private space and went over to meet Diana and Jones, who had just arrived at the ICU. They both looked distraught and it was clear that they had been crying on the way over. Hughes ushered them over to the other side of the waiting are and sat them down while he gave them the news. They both received it stoically, having seen Peter and Elizabeth when they walked in, they knew already that the last hope they had had of seeing their friend alive had gone.

After a few minutes Hughes walked up to the nursing station with a resigned expression as he got out his badge and credentials. He knew it would be too much for Peter to be the one to identify Neal's body after all that had happened. "I am the head of the White Collar Crimes Unit. Mr. Caffrey was under my jurisdiction. I ought to be the one to make the formal identification. Is his body here or have you taken him down to the morgue?" Although Hughes had deliberately kept his voice low, Peter looked up as soon as he heard him start speaking with the nurse. Again he noticed the nurse's slightly confused expression as she addressed Hughes. "Mr. Caffrey's sister was with him when he passed away and she made the identification. She signed the transfer documentation for the morgue. Let me just check the computer here." She started tapping at the keyboard while everyone slowly got up and approached the desk. She looked up at them nervously as all five were now staring at her with puzzled expressions. "His sister, Sally V. Caffrey, requested the body be transferred to the Haversham Funeral Home in Queens. According to our records, it has already been collected. That's very unusual; it doesn't normally happen so quickly. She must have gotten the arrangements in place as soon as he was brought in. I'm sorry Mr. Hughes, but your friend is gone."

The nurse looked on incredulously at the scene before her; tears were still flowing, but this time accompanied by laughter. "Sally V. Caffrey?" Peter snorted, through gulps of laughter, "Would that be Sally "_the Vulture" _Caffrey, by any chance?" Another wave of laugher spread through the room. "Let's take this outside people!" Hughes ordered, trying to sound angry but failing miserably as he smiled and ushered everyone into the hall. "Peter, you go and find him now and bring him to me so I can kill him with my own hands!" he ordered. "Not if I get to him first!" Elizabeth snapped.

It was then that Peter remembered the man he had knocked into on arriving at the ICU, the short man, the short man with the baseball cap over his eyes and his head bent low! What had he said to Peter? As he slipped his hand into his jacket pocket, the words came back to Peter, "My bad, Suit!" He took his hand out of his pocket and held out the origami swan for everyone to see. With an expression of pure exasperation, Peter growled, much to everyone's amusement "The bastard stole my wallet!"

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><p><strong>TBC<strong>

**Your feed-back is appreciated, and will (per Mozzie) be taken under advisement!**


	11. Chapter 11

Back in the conference room, the mood had become slightly subdued. There were so many pieces of the puzzle still missing, so many questions unanswered. The White Collar Unit had used Sally "_the Vulture_" on a case before and while her computer hacking skills were truly amazing Peter doubted that she could have pulled off something this complex. As far as he knew, Mozzie was still involved with Sally. Could they have engineered this together with (or without) Neal's direct involvement? And if so, what exactly had they engineered and why? Peter's emotions bounced between admiration and anger. Part of him wanted to find Neal and hug him, while the other part wanted to smack him and cuff him.

Diana and Jones joined Peter and Hughes and pooled the information they had managed to gather from the hospital and the FBI's computer people. A felon from the prison named Neal Caffrey had indeed, been signed into and out of the ICU, and his records matched those of their Criminal Consultant. Dr. Mansfield had signed the death certificate and a dead body had left the hospital, headed first for the Haversham Funeral Home, but was diverted en route to another mortuary in Queens where it was cremated and the ashes given over to a Sally V. Caffrey. None of the White Collar team believed any more that Neal was dead but where was he? Slowly a theory started to form in Peter's mind. Following his gut had served him well when dealing with Neal Caffrey during their cat-and-mouse years and their crime-solving partnership. "Diana, did Dr. Mansfield identify Neal from the medical records?" he asked. "Yes, Boss." Diana replied. "Was there a photograph of Neal in the records?" "I doubt it, let me go check."

When Diana returned, she was smiling widely. No one was surprised when she announced, "Dr. Mansfield could not say that the dead man was Neal. She could not recall him clearly, having only seen him with breathing equipment obscuring his face. However ….." she paused dramatically, "She had no problem identifying the handsome face in the photograph I texted her, as a current resident of the ICU, Mr. Daniel Peterson!"

Peter sighed and shook his head. "Apparently, his recovery is going so well that he is being prepared for transfer to a private room off the main ward. He's been so charming and they are all going to miss him!" Peter now had his head in his hands and was groaning. Hughes patted him on the shoulder, a slight smile playing across his lips. "Oh, I'm not finished." Diana continued, "His dear devoted _brother_, Mr. Hugh Peterson, has been with him throughout the day. As we speak he is taking a well deserve lunch break at the cafeteria, and according to your visa card activity Peter, you are paying for it!"

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><p><strong>TBC<strong>

**Your feed-back is appreciated, and will (per Mozzie) be taken under advisement!**


	12. Chapter 12

This time only Peter and Hughes returned to the hospital. Hughes even drove, sensing (correctly) that Peter was nearing his wits' end. Not being so emotionally attached to Neal, the older and far more experience FBI agent was thinking of the wider implications of what had happened and foresaw a mutually beneficial resolution in this extraordinary series of events. They had no problem locating_ Mr. Peterson's _room and entered to find it already filled with flowers and balloons, among them a particularly striking arrangement from the ICU staff! Mozzie was sitting on the edge of Neal's bed reading a newspaper. Without removing it from in front of his face he greeted them, "Good afternoon Suit, Chief Suit." "Hello Mozzie," Peter replied, "Care to explain?"

Mozzie folded the paper and set it beside him on the bed. Neal made no sound, save for softly snoring. He was hooked up to an IV and an oxygen monitor and had some ugly bruising around his neck, but otherwise he seemed alright. Mozzie looked first at Hughes and then at Peter. His expression looked grim.

"You can't deny that you've had your money's worth out of him. Over the last four years the White Collar Crime Unit's case closure rate has soared and with it so has Neal's reputation as an FBI snitch. Word is there are at least three hits out on him from disgruntled cons that he helped you put away. During the four years you've had him your record at taking care of him has hardly been exemplary. Neal Caffrey's time has finished now, let him go, suits, I'm taking him back."

Peter doubted that Mozzie had ever given Neal away. He bet he'd been watching over him the entire time that he'd been in prison and then in FBI custody. "In case you are wondering, Neal knows nothing of what has gone on. He was unconscious when he left prison and when he came round in the ICU he wasn't even aware of the name change until I spoke with him. What went on in the prison was for real, those dirty pigs set him up and it was a complete fluke that he didn't die there and then."

Neal started to stir and Mozzie suggested they take the conversation out into the hall. They sat down in a small waiting area by the window wall and looked out at the parking lot below. All was silent for a few minutes, before Hughes picked up from where they had left off. "So does Neal have any say in this?" he asked Mozzie. "No, he does not. I'm calling the shots now. You must know how he hero worships Peter. If he stays with the FBI he will inevitable put himself in danger just to try and live up to his expectations. Leave him be while he's young enough to start over, please." To Peter's surprise Hughes said nothing in reply but simply nodded. While Peter had been protective of Neal, it was clear to Hughes that Mozzie was the Papa Bear and anyone capable of pulling off the stunt he had just done would keep Neal a lot safer than the FBI could. As it was, Neal was going to need time to recover, by which point his four years with the White Collar Crime Unit would be done anyway.

'What about his future? How will he support himself?" Peter asked Mozzie. "Don't worry, Neal will be fine. He has enough talent to be an artist in his own right. I've spoken with June and she wants to help set him up in his own studio. She has property other than in New York and she's offered to let us stay there while he gets started. That bakery that he bought a couple of years back has actually started to turn a decent profit so he'll be okay financially, regardless." It all seemed quite plausible. Why shouldn't Neal make a go of it in the real world? Despite the obvious trauma that he would suffer as a result of what had happened, the arrest was now looking somewhat serendipitous. Peter had no doubt that Mozzie would take care of Neal although everyone was going to miss him terribly. As though sensing his concerns, Mozzie said, "Listen Suit, it won't be forever. Thanks to our nation's bloodlust for crime and punishment, Neal's _death _is pretty much established. Give us some time, there's no reason why you can't visit and who knows, maybe down the line, if the FBI is in need of a deep cover agent, well Daniel Peterson might turn out to be quite an asset. Just no time soon though." He shot a warning glance at Hughes, who had been thinking exactly the same thing.

Peter turned to Hughes and asked, "What about the FBI? Will they be okay with all of this?" "All of what?" Hughes replied. "We had a criminal consultant, who having completed his agreement with us, sadly died under very public circumstances." Turning to Mozzie he added, "Please give your brother Daniel our best wishes when he awakes." He held out his hand and Mozzie shook it solemnly. "Wow!" thought Peter, "Now that is something I never thought I would witness."

Mozzie started back to Neal's room. "One last thing Mozzie," Peter said quietly, "What about the body that was cremated, please tell me you didn't kill some innocent soul to cover for Neal's death." "No suit, I did not!" Mozzie laughed and with that he went into the room and closed the door. Very softly, he added, "There was nothing innocent about him!"

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><p><strong>TBC<strong>

**Your feed-back is appreciated, and will (per Mozzie) be taken under advisement!**


	13. Chapter 13

Neal stayed in the hospital for another day before being given the all clear to complete his recuperation at home. Mozzie took him to stay in _Sunday_, the grandest of his off-the-grid residences. June had his clothes and art supplies boxed up and Sally collected them in her vintage VW camper. He had surprisingly few possessions for all his four years in the city. June was more than happy to have him keep Byron's clothes that she had had tailored to fit him. It made her happy to think that they would still be worn, although not perhaps so much, given Neal's new locale. A week later, the trio were ready to set off on their road trip to a new life. Mozzie dropped Sally at the park to take care of unfinished business with the girl while he and Neal drove on to the Burke's for a farewell luncheon.

Sally purchased her cappuccino and asked for an additional cup of water and a paper napkin, before strolling over to the bench to wait for the girl to make her daily appearance. As she sat there she casually dumped the water out of the second cup, wiped it out with the paper napkin, and transferred the package from her purse to the cup. It wasn't long before the girl arrived, got her coffee and came to join Sally on the bench. She liked Sally and had enjoyed chatting with her over the past few days. "How are you today?" the girl asked. "Fine, thanks, I am moving out of town tomorrow, I'm glad I got to see you before leaving." Sally replied. "Oh," the girl said sadly, "I'll miss out coffee breaks. Where are you headed?" She asked. "I'm off to sunnier climes!" Sally replied cheerfully. "The island life awaits me!" "That sounds wonderful," the girl said wistfully, "It feels like forever since I had a vacation." Sally smiled at her, "Perhaps this will help you toward your next one!" She handed the girl the coffee cup, adding, "You'd better open this at home." The girl looked at her, puzzled. "I need you to know something." Sally said to her quietly, "That boyfriend of yours, the mean one. He won't be around anymore." The girl's eyes pooled with tears, she had been so happy since he had stopped coming round. But now the mere mention of him made her sick with fear. "How do you know that?" she asked Sally. "Oh, I have a friend who knows .. who knew, him." Sally answered lightly. "But how can you be sure he won't be back anytime in the future?" the girl asked, confused. "Trust me on this." Sally replied, "He won't be back, _ever_." She squeezed the girl's arm as she got up from the bench. "Good luck!" She called over her shoulder as she walked away. The girl looked down at the coffee cup in her hands. It felt heavy but not hot, it didn't feel like it contained liquid at all. She cracked the lid open to sneak a peek at whatever was inside. She let out a surprised gasp as her eyes locked onto the tightly wadded roll of $100 bills. She had never seen so much cash. "There must be thousands," she thought as she hastily scanned the park for Sally, hoping for some kind of explanation, but Sally was long gone. "What on earth is all this about?" the girl pondered as she tucked the cup into her purse and headed home for the day.

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><p><strong>TBC<strong>

**I'm nearing the end of this fanfic, so let me know if you want to see it cover anything I have missed out and I will (per Mozzie) take your comments under advisement!**


	14. Chapter 14

"Well Mrs. Suit, as these wonderful aromas rise up to meet me, I cannot but think that perhaps a little light exercise might be beneficial before I partake of this delightful repast. Gentlemen, would you care to join me?" Mozzie asked the two men relaxing on the sofa. Peter rolled his eyes and raised his beer bottle to him, "Knock yourself out, Mr. Conspiracy." "Sorry Moz but you know I cannot be out in public, Satchmo looks like he's your best bet." Neal added, sipping his wine and relaxing back into the sofa cushions. "Ah, how easily they follow along my path," Mozzie thought to himself, "Sometimes it is just too simple to take pride in."

"Come on, dear Satchmo, let us stroll together and visit with the lovely ladies of the Doggie Park!" he said to the golden Labrador retriever, reaching for the leash hanging beside the door. "Mozzie, wait a moment, let me get you a waste bag." Elizabeth called out from the kitchen. "No need, Mrs. Suit. I come prepared!" Mozzie replied, patting his jacket pocket. Neal raised his eyebrows doubtfully. Mozzie was such a germaphobe he could not imagine a scenario in which he would willingly become involved in anything remotely like scooping poop. As the door closed behind man and dog he turned to Peter and said, "Well, that was unexpected." "Yeah," Peter replied. "That man never ceases to amaze me. Take good care of him, Neal. He's a one-of-a-kind." Neal turned to look him directly in the eye. "Why Peter, I do believe that you have finally fallen under the Haversham spell." He laughed. "I wouldn't go that far." Peter replied, smiling. "But I must admit, there's a lot more to him than initially meets the eye!" "Oh, you have no idea …" Neal added as he got up and went to join Elizabeth in the kitchen. "I don't think I want to know any more than I already do." Peter thought to himself.

At the park, Mozzie knelt to let Satchmo off the leash, "Go for it, Mr. Satch. The world is your oyster!" he joyfully declared. Satchmo enthusiastically complied, running back and forth across the park. Mozzie waited patiently following Satchmo's trail with an indulgent smile. Once the hound had performed as expected Mozzie removed a gallon-sized baggie from his jacket pocket, together with a pair of purple plastic gloves. Utilizing a nearby twig he rolled the deposit into the bag, which was already half-filled with pale gray ashes. He tossed the twig aside, removed the gloves and added them to the bag, carefully sliding the seal across the top. With Satchmo safely back on the leash, they headed over to the waste station. Mozzie lifted the lid and dropped the bag inside. It landed with a dull thud.

With a wry smile Mozzie tipped his baseball cap and said, "Sayonara, Officer Olsen."

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><p><strong>TBC<strong>

**This is the penultimate chapter. I welcome your feedback and will (per Mozzie) take it under advisement.**


	15. Chapter 15

Peter got to the office early on Monday morning. Although the White Collar Crime Unit's case closure rate was definitely down since Neal was gone, it was still impressive and he had a stack of files he needed to sign off on from last week. It was 3 months since Neal left and Peter's strategy for coping with his loss had been to work harder than ever. Diana and Jones were not entirely enthusiastic about the increased work ethic, but they missed the former Criminal Consultant too and it was extremely satisfying to be solving so many white collar crimes. Peter sat at his desk, pinching the bridge of his nose, still not fully awake. He leant back in his chair, taking a swig of his coffee when he locked eyes onto the most beautiful women he had ever seen. She looked down at him, a soft smile playing on her lips. Elizabeth, the love of his life. He almost dropped his coffee cup in surprise. Her portrait hung directly opposite his desk. It was a perfect likeness of his darling wife, capturing exactly the instant before she would start laughing. He didn't need to look at the signature to know who had created this work of art. He knew how it must have pleased Neal no end to have been able to add his initials to the piece, unhidden this time. In the bottom right-hand corner was a back to front capital 'D' with a capital 'P' sharing the down-stroke.

Hughes strolled into Peter's office and followed his gaze to the portrait. "Well, well Peter," said his boss with a smile, "At last we have an original art work in our offices, and a Daniel Peterson at that!" He studied it carefully. "Why on earth he wasted his talent on forgeries I'll never know." Peter's phone rang and he noticed it was Elizabeth. He put her on speakerphone. "Hey hon, everything okay?" he asked. "Oh, everything is great!" she chirped back. "Guess who I am looking at as we speak?" she asked her husband. "Is it me, by any chance?" Peter asked. "How do you know?" Elizabeth exclaimed. "Because I am looking at you!" Peter replied. "So much for the security system at Burke Premiere Events." Elizabeth commented. "So much for the security system at the FBI!" Hughes added. "Oh, hello Reese." Elizabeth called out. "How do you like our boy's work?" she added. "It's exceptional." Hughes replied, "But then the subject matter is so beautiful to begin with, it would be hard not to end up with such a stunning piece!" "Oh, I love flattery, and so early in the day." Elizabeth cooed. Peter coughed, "I am still in the room you know." He said with mock hurt. Hughes and Elizabeth laughed. Reese's phone rang and he went back to his office to get it, "Well, speak of the devil!" Peter heard him say. This was going to be a good day.

They were all invited to June's for lunch at 1:00PM. Mozzie, Sally and Neal were back in town. The morning passed slowly as Peter worked his way through the case files he was signing off on. He was unable to focus for any length of time; his attention constantly wandered either to Elizabeth's portrait or to reminiscences of his escapades with Neal. In the end he gave up and left in order to buy June some flowers en route. Elizabeth would be at the florists to sort out orders for this week's events so he would meet up with her there and the two of them could go together to June's. The irony was not lost on Peter that it was the same florist where she had been headed the day this wild ride started. Although both Peter and Elizabeth were almost giddy with excitement at meeting up with Neal they had to contain themselves around the store owner, Matthew, for as far as he knew their friend had been killed just a few months earlier in the much publicized prison riot.

Once out of the store, they hugged each other and set off for June's sharing their cell phone pictures of the paintings Neal had secretly gifted them. Peter's portrait showed him looking down and laughing as though he had just shaken his head over some typical Neal transgression. Elizabeth loved it. She couldn't wait to thank Neal in person. They positively skipped up the steps to June's town house, unable to wait a moment longer to see their errant son. June opened the door, and greeted them warmly. "Come in, come in. It's so lovely to see you both again." Sally was sitting on a settee, sipping an aperitif, her legs curled under her. She waved and got up to join them in the foyer. "The boys are in Neal's old apartment." She said, answering their expectant glances around the room. "Mozzie still insists we go everywhere by car, so they took shifts driving through the night. They went up to shower and catch a nap before you all arrived. Let's go check on them." She headed up stairs with Elizabeth following behind. Peter presented the flowers to June and took off his coat before going up after them. As he entered Neal's room he saw Sally and Elizabeth standing by the bed, covering their mouths to stifle their giggles. He quietly crossed the room and joined them. There were Mozzie and Neal sound asleep on the bed. Mozzie was sitting against the headboard; his head tilted back, glasses askew and his mouth open, snoring loudly. His legs were bent up toward his chest and there was an open book propped against his knees. One hand lay across the book while the other was holding Neal's, who was sprawled beside him, with Bugsy, June's dog, at his feet. The little dog was resting its chin on Neal's ankle, where the tracking device used to be. Neal's head was turned away from Mozzie and his right thumb was stuck in his mouth. He couldn't have looked less like the old Neal. There was no trace of the suave con-artist. The Devore suit had been replaced by jeans and a short-sleeved button down shirt, which was un-tucked, showing his stomach as tanned as his face. His hair was longer and quite curly and the designer stubble was gone. He looked about four years old!

Peter let out a guffaw and Elizabeth pinched his arm, putting her fingers to her lips. "Shh!" she said, dragging him away. "Oh, I should get a picture of this for black-mail purposes! I can't wait to tease him about thumb-sucking." Peter laughed. "Don't you dare!" warned Sally. "When I told him he does it, he denied it and got quite angry! As for holding hands, Mozzie says he's done that since he first met him as a kid. It helps him fall asleep." Their whispers woke Mozzie and he let go of Neal's hand as he reached for his glasses. Quickly the three voyeurs speed tip-toed out of the room and headed back downstairs laughing. "What's the joke?" Hughes asked as they entered the sitting room. "We were just laughing at Mozzie snoring!" Peter lied as Elizabeth shot him a glare. He noticed that in addition to Hughes, Jones and Diana had also arrived, and were enjoying drinks in the sunlit room.

There were muffled noises from above as Mozzie and Neal moved about, and then they heard the door upstairs click as the two men descended the stairs to the sitting room. When they reached the bottom step, Mozzie stepped aside and addressed the group, carnival barker-style, "I present to you, the new, and improved, Daniel Peterson!" Elizabeth and June started laughing and applauding while Sally whistled loudly. The FBI gang were whooping and cheering. Neal obligingly gave them a twirl. He looked every bit the island boy, deep tan in contrast to his white shirt (now tucked in – the old Neal's dress code not entirely lost), faded blue jeans and bare feet. He even had a leather band on his left wrist where his stylish watch used to be. All he needed was a shell necklace!

"You look like cartoon!" Peter said, clapping along with the others. He remembered the first time Neal had swaggered down the stairs at June's, modeling the _Rat Pack_ persona he had inhabited during his previous time with Peter. He had the same air of confidence, the same dynamic smile and dazzling blue eyes, but there was something else this time, something that had always been missing during the previous four years; this time he exuded an air of bliss. His happiness was completely infectious and he looked around the room, drawing them one by one, into his world of childish delight. Finally, Neal stood in front of Peter, arms outstretched with a huge grin on his face, "I missed you, Daddy!" he exclaimed, much to everyone's amusement. Rolling his eyes, Peter got up and gave Neal a bear hug. "I missed you too, son." He replied, kissing him on the cheek. Neal dropped his head onto Peter's shoulder as the older man patted him on the back of his neck. The group gave a collective, "Aaaaah!" before another round of raucous laughter broke out.

Mozzie started popping bottles of Veuve Clicquot and poured for Sally who passed around the Waterford crystal champagne flutes. Once they all had a glass in hand, Mozzie announced, "A toast! To our friends, nay… to our family!" Amidst the clinking of glasses, June announced that lunch was served and they all moved noisily into the dining room. Peter put his arm around Neal's shoulders as they walked in, "You really doing okay?" he asked, with genuine concern. "Peter, I can honestly say, I am fine!" Peter was relieved that he could not discern a hint of guile in Neal's expression. He smiled indulgently, saying "You deserve to be. I'm proud of you." He squeezed Neal's shoulder as he left him behind his chair and moved around the table to sit opposite. Peter pulled out Elizabeth's chair for her as she sat down beside him. "Our boy did well!" he exclaimed to her. "Of course," she answered, winking at Neal. "How could he do otherwise?" Neal raised his glass to her, winking back.

As they lifted the linen table napkins from their side plates, Elizabeth and Peter found a pair of airline tickets tucked beneath. "What's this?" Peter asked, fingering the envelope with the Caribbean Airlines crest at the top. "It seems that you are due a vacation, _Suit_." Mozzie chimed in. Elizabeth turned to Peter smiling, "Before you start, it's all been okayed; we have a week of R&R ahead of us." "You were in on this?" Peter gasped at his wife. "How could she not have let this slip out?" he wondered. He was definitely off his game. "Our beloved trio here will drive back, and we three shall fly out to meet them once they get to the islands." June said. Peter just shook his head in amusement. This was one Caffrey stunt that he didn't mind having pulled on him. "Business is doing well out there for our talented portrait artist! Thank you, Neal for this wonderful treat." June added, raising her glass to Neal, who gave her his _Class A_ smile in return. Diana and Jones also had envelopes, only their tickets were for Paris, France. "Well, the _H. Man_ thought he may as well close the Unit for the week so he could have some peace and quiet to go fishing. You couldn't all be in the same place, blowing my cover, so Europe it is for you two!" Neal said to them. Diana squealed excitedly and blew him a kiss while Jones reached across the table to shake Neal's hand.

"Given your obvious financial success, perhaps you won't need this after all." Hughes laughed, as he pulled a thick envelope out of his jacket pocket and passed it over to Neal. Neal tilted his head questioningly as he opened the envelope. He let out a slow whistle as he saw the stack of bills. "It's your first consulting fee, Mr. Peterson." Hughes said to him. "Cash, of course. I expect a full written report on how you managed to get in and out of the White Collar Crime Unit without detection, leave nothing out. By the way, I loved Elizabeth's portrait!"

Neal fixed his eyes on Peter and with sly smile asked, "So is your boss telling me, Agent Burke," he smirked, "that crime _does_ pay?" Everyone broke out into laughter again as Peter threw his table napkin at Neal.

* * *

><p><strong>THE END<strong>

**I hope you enjoyed my first fanfic. If so, please take the time to write a review. I did take previous comments on board and this turned out quite differently from my original plan. I am mulling over some ideas for my next story so do keep your feedback coming and I will (per Mozzie) take it under advisement!**


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